POETRY

Issue #2
March, 2009
Letter from the Staff
Dear Reader,

Thank you for once again visiting THE PAW! And for those of you who missed our
first issue, welcome!

We’re sorry that it has taken so long to get this new issue online, although a por-
tion of the blame can be placed on that lovely snow week we had in December
(aren’t most of everyone’s problems due to that untimely phenomenon?)

But now that we’re back, as always, we the staff would like to send our thanks to
all of you who were brave enough to submitt your work. We were very excited to
work on this issue, which features work from a host of artists and writers entirely
new to THE PAW; we hope that you, the reader, will become just as enthused
when you begin your perusal.

Finally, just as a side note, we were also pleased to see a greater variety of genres
in the literature for this issue, especially an increase in the number of short stories.
We even have the pleasure of presenting our first chapter story; the first part will
appear in this issue, but you’ll have to wait for the next one for the final chapter!

Once again, we’d like to thank everyone for submitting to this issue, and encour-
age you to continue sending us your wonderful entries. And for those of you who
haven’t yet found the courage to submit anything, we beseech you: Please do!
We’re waiting to showcase your genius!

Sincerely,

The Staff of THE PAW

THE PAW STAFF

Susan Payne- Advisor Amber Lindstrom
Melissa Aust Marianna Saucier
Margaret Campbell David Shumway
Emma DeFontes Patreece Suen
Gillian Downey

Cover Art: “Dining with Diane” by Gabriela Cardoso

 Action
POETRY

By Elizabeth M.

It’s a scene right off the silver screen

The tape rolls
The light shines
As you fumble with your lines
It’s just not working out you say
Here comes the part where I walk way
Cut
The director and camera men yell
It’s like you’re under some kind of spell
Your dead eyes
And emotionless face
All seem out of place
He yells take two
So you try something new
It’s just been so long
Cut
No, no that all seems wrong
Like a stolen line from a song
Take three
This is your final attempt to make me see
We just weren’t meant to be
I think we should just go our separate ways
Your words put me in a haze
But it’s time for my line
Just get it out and I’ll be fine
Do you have a reason?
You sigh and say you’re great
But from the look in your eyes I know it’s too late
You’re already gone
I was just another pawn
The scene is done
That was a fast one
I wait for the director to yell cut
But no one says a thing
Because this isn’t a movie scene
I’m just another heartbroken teen
So I just walk away
There’s nothing more I can say.

“John Lennon” by Emily Lobbato

POETRY

Culture
Stephanie Galluzzo

We have many cultures in our world

There are many differences in the way we live our lives

Which makes cultures unique and special

Sometimes cultures fight, Sometimes they join each other for celebrations

People make judgments about others because of the culture they come from, just like how
people can be judged by the color of skin

The truth is we have much more in common than you may think

If you get to know different cultures you will see that we are similar

Each culture has bad and good

The bad looks for the differences

The good looks for the common ground

We are all human beings and we all live in the same world, where we go through many of the
same journeys in life

If we can all get past our differences we will all be able to see how similar we are

Israel Ortiz
SHORT STORY

Computers Shouldn’t Talk back

Shizuka
“Damn bloody computer,”
Maxwell hissed.
“Sir, the current malfunctions
were caused by a mistake of your
own. It was you who gave the com-
mand to delete the Tetra Program.”
“I know that, Griegson!”
snapped Max. He tore his fingers
through his hair, eliciting a comment
on the uselessness of such actions.
“Your energy would be put
to far better use trying to solve this
situation.”
“I believe that preventing,
and, should the case arrive, fixing
program malfunctions is your job
and if you insult me one more time,
I will take a sledgehammer to your
motherboard.”
“I would advise against such
crude actions sir, because, with
all due respect, you have already
proven that the only entity in this
room capable of handling any sort of
crisis is myself.”
“Damnit,” growled the irate
human. “Why on earth I keep you
around I’ll never know. Who the
heck wants a computer that talks
back?”
“Sir, as my programmer and
creator, you have only yourself to
blame if my abilities have proved Kirstin Peters
unsatisfactory,” Griegson pointed out logically.
“I know that, Griegson!”
“Really?” replied the computer conversationally. “I wasn’t certain that was so.”
The programmer seethed, his fingers arched like claws, longing to rip out the silicon chips and wires
hidden underneath the computer’s plastic casing.
“Griegson,” he whispered maliciously, eyes gleaming with intent, “I believe we’ve forgotten our origi-
nal problem. The Tetra Program is lost, and nearly the entire system is overloaded. Our only option is to shut
down and reconfigure if permanent damage to the OS is to be prevented.”
“Our only option?” repeated Griegson. It must have been his imagination, but Max could have sworn
that he heard a note of indignation in that cool metallic voice. “It seems I need to remind you yet again, sir, that
this entire situation is your fault.”
SHORT STORY
“Yes,” purred Max. His hand hovered over the manual shut down control pad. “And I intend to fix it.”
“I wish you the best of luck, as you seem to need all you can get,” said Griegson nobly.
“Yes, yes, thank you,” Max waved off the insult, too cheery to be annoyed. He grinned hugely. “Talk to
you again in the morning, Griegson!”
“Good night, sir,” answered the computer.
Max smiled. His fingers settled on the control pad.
“Before you enter that final code, sir, I should inform you that I took the liberty of activating the emer-
gency backup program ADVENT after Tetra was deleted. It has now managed to stabilize the system; all of the
basic files and programs are still largely intact. A complete manual overhaul is no longer necessary.”
Max stared at the glowing screen, on which a message box confirming Griegson’s words sat innocently.
“I am also pleased to report, sir, that not a single bite of my personality data has been harmed by this
episode. You have no reason whatsoever to change my programming. Not that that was ever your intention, I’m
sure.”
“I am your creator.” Max forced the words from his teeth with painful difficulty. “I can change your
programming whenever I damn well please.”
To prove his point, he jabbed his finger at the screen, over the server icon. To his astonishment, a mes-
sage box popped up instead of the file.

Error
We’re sorry. Due to unforeseen complications, we are unable to access the server at
this time. Griegson is currently searching for the cause of the problem. Please do not
try again.

Max scowled heavily (“Sassy piece of junk”). He moved his finger to the Start button, but the menu did
not display itself. After a second frustrated and knowingly futile attempt, another message popped up.

Warning
Griegson has encountered a virus. To activate anti-virus program Mamoru, click OK.

The programmer stared. He hadn’t intended to actually do anything, merely show the cursed hunk of
metal who was boss, and yet it just had be so--!
Another message displayed itself while the human was lamenting his misfortune.

Warning
Griegson has been compromised. To preserve your files, we will commence with the emer-
gency shut down.

Max panicked. His fingers flew over the screen and keyboard, he tried every trick he could think of,
but the damn computer would not let him access anything. Finally, he threw himself back into his chair and
slammed his fists on the desk.
“I can’t believe it!” he bellowed. “You locked me out!”
Yet another message glowed on the screen.

Yes. I will not let you back in until you agree that, in return for my invaluable
services, I am free to sass you as much as I want.

Max’s forehead hit the desk with a resounding `thud.’

“Damn bloody computer!”
POETRY

Convicted Clock
Margaret Campbell

the clock sat on the wooden table until all the other clocks
in the far corner began to disagree
of the front room and the house was filled
behind the window with conflicting numbers
staring into the garden as the little clock
at two fourteen sat on the table
it stopped and stared into the garden
perhaps the moment was too good though the day was nice
to give up and there was no reason for a person to want
yellow flowers it to pass
white clouds the little clock was found out
reflected across its face it’s hard to lie
it was a believable lie when you wear your thoughts
for a minute or two spread across your face

Michael Thompson
POETRY
Make The Right Decisions Please
Elizabeth M.
The neon lights are burning out
As you take another sip from that spout
The night’s coming to an end
And you’re along without a friend
You’ve had your fun
Maybe you’re a little over done
As you fumble for your keys
Someone pulls them away
And whispers please
Before you leave tonight
Look to your left
Look to your right
You may be taking their life tonight
If you get in that car
And drive away
Who’s to say
It may be your last day
But it’s not just you
So think before you do
You could be taking a mother’s baby boy
And daddy’s little girl
Robbing them of their joy
It could be a single dad
A mother of three
Now do you see
They could be the life you never meant to
take
It takes just one mistake
Anyone out on that road tonight could be
the ones you take with you
So what will you do
Drink and drive and pray to God you
survive
Or pick up the phone
Stay away from the unknown
And call home
They hand you back your keys
And whisper make the right decision
POETRY
Before we start working hard as my mind is not just some clay,
Not adults should.
That you can mold into whatever
Tomorrow, Is there a reason you can explain?
Is there a way you can make it
way that pleases you. I will not
hide my dismay,
Today plain
Until the day when we can play
So that all would know that shovel- and just live for today,
ing this information into our brains
Melissa Aust isn't in vain, Because tomorrow's looking gray
and it's coming our way and I'd like
But so we could gain some knowl- to delay this display,
edge?
I've noticed something about
Until I have no choice but to obey
school over the several years I've
Please believe me when I say, that the laws of this world.
had to attend;

It's that teachers love to talk about

Kaitlyn Jenson
the place you will go as you tran-
scend.

The next class, the next path,

The next move so your life will be

improved.

They wish not to discuss the here

and now,

Only your future, the next field you

will plow.

Where you are going, where the

wind is blowing,

Where they are throwing you to be

the next prize worth showing.

Why can't we slow it down? Why

must we go around,

With a frown, and grow up so fast

so we can live uptown?

What I've never understood, is why

we could not live and have a good
childhood,
POETRY
Yellow Never Stung Quite Like The Bee
Ariel Coleman

The sun illuminates the windows lined up on that block

Where the houses sit like hill tops far above the red light stops

The grass up here is green, so high above that city smog

Where the cars they roll like zombies mostly lost all and all

The valley floor a basin for an ice cream bowl of fog

As that train it hollers reveberating off those valley walls

I can see the rise from here where the great gold catches the baby blue

I can see the rise from here where the crisp cool air is filled with morning dew

A master whines at his puppy, complaining of lack of sleep

A mother yells at a son, for the company he seems to keep

A husband screams to a wife as she arrives in the car a beep

A sister looks to another, with a sneer that cuts even, deep

I can see the rise from here where the pink floods over the sky

I can see the rise from here where the birds sing as they fly

I can see the rise from here; can you see the way it grows?

So far above the valley, can you feel the breeze as it blows?

Can you see the way the sun makes everything glow, yellow as a bee?

Can you see that sunrise? Or can you not even see me?
POETRY

Growing up
Stephanie Galluzzo
As time passes we get older

We become ready for whatever life throws at us

Sometimes we hit a stump and need to find a way to move around it

It can be sad leaving your old life behind

But we can always look forward to our next journey life takes us on

If things always stayed the same we would never learn anything new

By growing up we see life in a new perspective

We understand things we could not understand before

With aging comes a sense of pride for how we became the person we are today

We experience problems in life that might not turn out the way we wanted

Dealing with these difficult times we have the opportunity to gain personal
growth, develop inner strength, and the knowledge to understand the needs of
those around us
Allison Ward
Race Track Race
Athalea Alvarez
 POETRY

Call On Me
Israel Ortiz

Elizabeth M.

When everything is falling apart Don’t worry cause you’re not alone

And there is not a soul around to fix your broken heart I’ll be there with you through the unknown

No one can understand what you’re going through When everyone is saying goodbye

Sometimes it feels like you don’t even have a clue And the only question you can ask is why

When tears are your only company Understand there may not be an answer

And misery is your only friend Just like the solution to cancer

Don’t worry cause this isn’t the end But I will be there holding your hand

When bad days find you Together will stand

Call on old memories to remind you We will rise with the dawn

Of all those who love you Taking everything head on

And everything you do So when it feels like everything is coming to an end

When you’re laying in bed Call on me your friend

Unsure of what’s ahead

POETRY
A Political Smear
Ariel Coleman

A political smear across the screen

A little girl’s smile covered with whipping cream

A radio broadcast revealing everything

A squeak for a squeal, it’s a high pitched scream

A laugh so loud it bellows in bounds

She turns and she turns but she can’t find the ground.

Two different stories, one little life

Just a little girl, a little smile on ice

She runs and she sings- she’s everything

She dances and plays- she’s a beautiful being.

Destruction, death, and demolition

The truth behind, a politician

Stolen weapons and ammunition

The stories collide, yet they still don’t listen

What if it was your little girl on the CNN screen?

Or your eldest son with the fatal machine-

How is a country more than a life?

And is there any justification, worth that price?

How does the difference in age, constitute price?

And if this little girl was your little girl, would it be okay that she died?
Samantha Cole

Samantha Cole
POETRY

Closed Eyes
Melissa Aust

I thought I knew him, but I was wrong.

Running up to him after work, where he would not be going tomorrow.

Leaning back in his chair, golden robe, eyes on the television screen for hours.

In glasses, white t-shirt, hair combed back,

Ready for work but playing Solitaire instead.

Watching the television late at night, loudly as I lay down to sleep.

Forgetting my sister and I until the early morning hours.

Making a batch of brownies that nobody but him could eat.

Wearing a perfect mask, making me believe that he was.

But as I said earlier, I didn’t realize that he wasn’t perfect.

I knew not what any other Dad was like.

I thought of him as wonderful, my father, my hero.

It’s like I closed my eyes.

Anger, love- feelings swirl inside me.

Bottled up and waiting to burst out.

Because now my eyes are open, and sometimes I wished they were not.

Life was so much easier when I was blind.

With closed eyes.

Briana Bayer
 A Wondrous Dream
SHORT STORY
Chris Pauly
The night was clear. A full moon shone like a spot
light, casting its eerie gray glow on to the stage before
me. The fields of pale green grass shimmered with a
midnight dew. Radiant blues of a river wound through
the hills reflecting the lunar shine in its wakes. Blos-
soming cherry trees rained down their pink and white
flowers.
The petals floated along the wind like millions of
sunset clouds, moving through the air, occasionally
dropping a tinted flake. The wisps blew towards me,
and a single crimson red leaf plummeted from the
cluster as it crossed the stream. It fell slowly wavering
back and forth as if it were a feather just plucked from
a flying bird. Its tip landed on the water, sending tiny
circles to the edge.
Then I closed my eyes, letting my senses guide me
through the world around me. The aroma of slowly
growing pastures filled my nostrils. The scent of water
was clear in the barrage of cherry. Tastes of air tickled
my tongue. Pollen tasted sweet against the blandness
of the night. Warm petals fell on my exposed cheeks
letting a smile cross my face.
I opened my eyes to see the setting again, hop-
ing that I would never leave such a wondrous place.
But my eyes fell upon nothing but empty blackness.
The petals’ heat had left my face. No more fragrances
Kelly Millager
passed through my nose. The air was tasteless, not
even the bitter night air survived in this vacant space.
My feet moved beneath me, searching for a way
out of the barren space. Sweat dripped into my eyes,
stinging them with salt. It ran down into my mouth,
making me feel sick as I swallowed the tiny droplets.
Suddenly I began to fall, tripped by my own hur-
ried legs. My shins burned. I did not have the strength
to raise myself, so I crawled like an animal trying to
escape a predator. My hands turned red and wet as the
SHORT STORY
black cut my flesh, leaving a trail of blood behind me.
A loud scream stirred in my chest, itching at my throat
to let it out. It came out like a wolf’s cry, animalistic
and full of anguish.
My body went numb as my legs tucked into my
chest forming myself into a ball. Hands clasped
around my now shaking knees as tears streamed down
my face. Ice cold tears, full of nothing. Pain washed
over me as my teeth stabbed deep into my lower lip,
the canine-like fangs piercing through the flesh. Trick-
ling down my chin, blood combined with water and
they dripped off me.
My eyes latched down tight. I dared not remove
the lids from them in fear that they would freeze ajar
upon the horror that was before me. Then a light shone
red through the skin that lay over my pupils. I peered
through the slit of one squinting eye. The other imme-
diately snapped open to gaze upon what was in front
of me.
I moved to my knees. The being standing before
me was clothed in bright golden robes. Her body ex-
uded a glow so bright; all I could make out was deep
brown eyes, full of emotion and the long, shimmering
hair that ran the length of her body. She floated above
the ground like a butterfly bobbing along a current
of air. She moved in my direction, never stealing her
entrancing gaze from me. Then she knelt down bring-
ing her eyes level with mine. I froze waiting for what
she would do next.
She gently laid her soft, glowing hand on my shoul-
der. I lost all worries about the shadows surrounding
us. I forgot the pain in my legs. My eyes started to tear
again but not from fear or the pain from my wound
covered palms, instead from sheer, unrestrained joy
that I could gaze upon a beauty such as hers. Then she
leaned into me, closing her hazel eyes, and pressed her
warm lips softly against mine.
I let my lids close, feeling the tenderness of this
being flow into me, I could see all the trees come back
into focus, the stream reappear and the flowers still
blowing in the wind. I felt my eyes reopen and the
scene remained. All that had existed before the void
swallowed me had returned. I pulled away, soaking in
the renovated landscape.
An instant had barely passed when a sound in the
distance rang out, calling for me. A high pitched wail,
familiar and yet alien to this place, growing more
intense as it came closer. She drew away from me as
the noise arrived, a look that mixed happiness and
a deeper sorrow filled her eyes. A slow cool breeze
rose up from behind me, rustling my hair and clothes.
The wind blew past me and headed for the spirit that
rescued me. The gusts entangled her garments and
drew her glowing mane across her face as they swirled
around her.
It started at her feet. Her toes began to fade into a
dancing spell of rosy petals. The deterioration wound
its way up her legs, around her waist, and twisted
through her arms. The small specks worked their way
up, surrounding her chest and neck. Her glowing skin
began to lose its sheen as the mass of tiny pointed
ovals grew and were set alight with their own unique
sparkle. Her head began to disappear next, fading into
the storm of pink with the rest of her heavenly figure.
I watched in awe, wondering how something of
such beauty could be destroyed with a display of pure
magnificence. The spiral slowly broke off into a trail,
flying on the breeze. The last piece to fly off was one
of her soul filled eyes that transformed into a single
red leaf that fell down and touched the water, sending
tiny wakes to the edge of the shore.
As the ripples reached the grass, my body began to
shake. The well-known, far-off noise suddenly rushed
upon me. The distinct ringing felt as if it were echo-
ing from deep inside my mind. It banged against the
drums and crashed down upon the cymbals that lined
my soul. I fell to the ground, my joints buckling under
the pressure. Pain-washed sweat began to drip down
my forehead as I strained against the force pressing
my essence into the pasture beneath me.
I finally was released from the power that held me
down. However, I no longer felt the soft fields against
my cheek. I instead laid my face against a smooth,
sweat soaked pillow that was set atop my bed. My
clock screamed tiredly at me from my nightstand. I
struggled to raise myself from the knotted mess of
the thick comforter sprawled over me. Letting my
feet hang off the edge of my bed, I hit the neon green
switch to quiet my alarm. The morning rays flashed
through the blinds and started drying the droplets of
sweat off my brow.
I tilted my head back and stared at the blank ceiling
hanging above, letting a smile rest on my lips. What a
dream, I thought. What a frightening, gorgeous, won-
drous dream.
POETRY

Success
Stephanie Galluzzo

Success can mean many different things

For me success is living a good life and doing things you love

For others it is having the most money or having a nice house

But you can be just as successful as some who has ten times the money you have

Some think they can only be successful if they live in a nice house, have lots of money
and went to an outstanding college

That is not true success

True success is loving the life you are living

Being nice to your family and friends

Working your hardest to achieve your want

When you fall do not stay on the ground thinking you failed

Get up and trying again

Nothing is impossible

You can do anything you put your mind to

You just have to believe in yourself

Samantha Cole
POETRY

Ready, Set, Go
Melissa Aust
The air was hot and sticky, like a lollipop left out in the sun.
The dry grass was surrounded by a burgundy track, watched by bleachers full of people.
Seven runners stood shoulder to shoulder, and behind them rows more awaited their turn.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Third in that line, I watched them as they prepared to sprint.

Uncertainty filled me as I stole a glance at my opponents, my arms and legs shook.
I told myself over and over that I could do this.

A loud shot blasted though the air. Breathe in, breathe out.

The first group was off, sprinting as fast as they could go.
Too soon they were done, cheering erupted from the crowd.
Another bang and the person in front of me shot forward.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Closing my eyes, still not sure,

I took my position, one leg in front of the other,
Preparing to launch myself at the sound of the...

Bang!

Slicing through the air, the cheers of the crowd didn't reach my ears.
Pushing faster and faster, I was giving the race my all.
I looked around me to the other runners.

I frowned.

Someone was running close, stride for stride the same.

We ran harder, knowing this meant first or second place.
I was moving as fast as I could through those last ten feet.

First place.

I smiled, you know, the heat really wasn't that bad.

My heart was racing and my legs were tired, but I was happy-
How silly to have been so scared before.

A teammate turned and gave me a high-five.

And then there was an announcement-

It was time for my next race,
The sun burned my skin as I started to shake.

Breathe in, breathe out.

POETRY

Most Precious
Petal

Margaret Campbell

behind the reddest petal

is the sharpest thorn
so we are a thousand sleeping
beauties
who reached out in the glistening
dawn
because roses were too beautiful
and now we pay the price
forced to laugh as blood red globes
form
on our finger tips
watch them swirl in fading light
until they burst
overflow with what they have
stolen
and drip
onto what we hold in our palms
what we have stolen
thorns and all
through closing eyes we watch
and the roses get redder

Stephanie Cettina
POETRY

Anonymous
Have you ever felt so unsure

That you didn’t know where you were

Have you ever felt undecided

Like you just couldn’t hide it

Have you ever been in love Why didn’t I try

Oh you couldn’t tell anyone To not let you go

Have you ever felt so ashamed And when that day comes

You know you were the one to blame I’m gunna need someone

Have you ever felt that way Who can be there for me

Oh someday Without wanting anything

I’m gunna wake up missin you Nothing in return

I’m gunna ask myself why Not even a picture to burn

Promise me we’ll always be friends

No matter what until the end

‘Cause right now I need you

I shouldn’t have to give the cue

B.O.H.
POETRY

My Everything
Christina Smith

You fly away, with the wind, running under you,

Slowly your arms have become wings.
You fly far away, away to another fantasy,
Carry me with you, or let me just fall apart,
Cause if the wind leaves, I swear, my soul will die.

The wind is my heart, the wind is my soul, the wind keeps

me alive.
My second wind, my northern star,
Please let me follow the wind.

I see the world, through the blue windswept river,

Any trouble it has, is better than this,
The only thing that has kept away sadness,
Is slowly leaving me,
Just give me something to carry me away. Because

The wind is my heart, the wind is my soul, the wind keeps

me alive.
My second wind, my northern star,
Please let me follow the wind.

Now I’m not scared of the sharp rocks below,

If I can’t fly I’ll die either way,
I jump, I start to fall,
Beautiful wind, help, me,
Suddenly my arms join yours in flight,
I fly away, to another fantasy. Now truly

The wind is my heart, the wind is my soul, the wind keeps

me alive.
My second wind, my northern star,
Please let me follow the wind.

My heart, my soul, my everything.

 But that’s just what people say The memories and the pain
Love Walks Away that come along
POETRY
Elizabeth M.
Can she really feel that way?
She walks right by And they both closed that door

But she lays awake at night They’re just not that strong
And he looks away
Remembering all that they did To keep holding on
The pain of seeing her
right
Is too big of a price to pay
And when he would hold her So she’ll just walk on by
tight
She says she’s moving on And he’ll just look away
How could he just throw it all
away Because the pain
Putting in the past all that has
gone wrong
Without even hearing what she Is just too big of a price to pay
had to say?
He says he’s fine

That she never crosses his mind But just know she’s missing him
Tears fall while she sleeps
Anymore And he’s thinking of her
Because of the nightmares that
she keeps And all that they were
Like she did before
And when she dreams of him Neither one will say a thing
But he lays awake at night
For a just a moment it’s all not They’ll just wait for the phone
true to ring
Wondering if what he did was
right
But no one will call
She’s heard that he’s moving on
Did walking away
Thinking the other wouldn’t
Not a tear had been cried since care at all
Really make everything okay
she’s been gone
Or is the choice he made wrong
But that’s just what people say So here is where our story ends
Is in her arms really where he
Can he really feel that way? Neither one willing to make
belongs?
amends
Photo: Melissa Aust

They don’t speak anymore She just walks on by

He’s heard that she’s moving on
It’s just easier to ignore And he just looks away
Not a tear has been cried since
he’s been gone
Letting love walk away
Maelmaris

The Blackcoats of Maelmaris

Twilight Emperor, By David Shumway

It was in the twilight hours that Lord Tumulteon, emperor of Ulsemroth, liked to wander the gardens
alone. He drifted silently through the shadows under the tall trees, contemplating the events of his long life in
darkness and quiet.

Eventually, Tumulteon emerged from the tree thicket and climbed the stone steps before him. He was
ascending the ridge rising over the capital city Ulsemrothis, the highest point of the garden, where there was a
small overlook. From the overlook, one could gaze out over the entire city, from the austere government build-
ings directly below the palace to the shimmering glass metropolis that dominated the skyline.

The sunset cast its dull orange glow across every inch of the overlook. Tumulteon built this spot to take
benefit of the last rays of the sun for his silent pondering. The dim light gleamed on Tumulteon’s bleached white
skull and, despite the chill in the air, made him feel stuffy in his heavy fur-tipped imperial cape.

The emperor sat down on a marble bench beside an exquisite cherry tree, framed by the marble flag-
stones that paved the overlook. Tumulteon stared for a very long time at the tree, and felt a connection with it.
The tree was nearly bare, stripped down by the frigid dirge of an Ulsemrothic winter. Tumulteon lamented the
loss of its lovely blossoms, seemingly ignoring the promise of their return in the spring.

The breeze kicked up again, and the blossoms of the cherry tree that had fallen to the ground began
to whirl and dance like dervishes. Tumulteon sighed and watched the sun go down. The empire he ruled was
extremely demanding: large, powerful, but steadily declining. Once, Lord Tumulteon was the undisputed tyrant
of all the world of Aether, at the helm of Ulsemroth at its height. In those days, Tumulteon was said to possess
strange dark powers, which struck fear into the hearts of his subjects. But now, even the last of those had van-
ished. Who has ever heard of one of the valmatari outlasting their own life energy? Tumulteon, for all his power
and aspiration, could not escape the very laws of nature.

In recent years, Tumulteon had transferred control of much of the government to his prime minister,
Burton. In turn, Burton had increased the size and jurisdiction of the secret police organization Maelmaris
boundlessly.

As the day began to darken, a vision came to Tumulteon. A vision of an earlier time, when the sun still
hung high in the sky and Tumulteon’s withered frame stood much straighter…

80 years ago…

The blazing sun scorched the gray slate pavement of Imperial Square, making the many uniformed
soldiers gathered there uncomfortable. On this day, Lord Tumulteon stood at the great windows of his throne
room, peering out on the assembled mass in the square. Beside him stood Euparis Burton; the young, promising,
newly-appointed prime minister. Burton looked down on the soldiers in the square with some apprehension.

“Take a good, long look, Burton…” said Tumulteon proudly in his gruff, commanding voice. “Every
man handpicked for valor, cunning, and combat prowess! Truly the mightiest heroes of the great Tidesian war,
all gathered together in one ultimate fighting force!”
Maelmaris

David Shumway
Pen, india ink on paper

“Truly the pride of Ulsemroth…” Burton agreed. “But…what is the purpose of such an gathering?”

Tumulteon turned to Burton and his eyes seemed to smile. “Follow me, Burton…we’re going to in-
spect the troops.”

The men stood like statues, the sun overhead gleaming on their polished iron shoulder pads. They
wore long black trench-coats, cruel leather jackboots, and long silver dress swords. Their faces were stern
Maelmaris

and unyielding, as Lord Tumulteon strode proudly through the ranks. Burton walked with him, and wondered if
any of these stern soldiers were intimidated by the tall valmatari dictator, with his frightening horned skull and
heavy blood red cape. He stood at almost eight feet high, not counting the horns, easily towering over them all.

Tumulteon continued his inspection, striding along with the cold grace of a tyrant. Burton soon found
it hard to remain important-looking next to the all-dominating presence of the great dictator. When they finally
returned to the podium built at the palace gates at the front of the square for Tumulteon to address the troops,
Burton decided to voice some of his opinions.

“My Lord…”began Burton. “If I may, what do you plan to do with this new combat force?”

Tumulteon stopped and turned to face Burton. “Minister Burton…I’m planning to resurrect Maelmaris.”

“M…Maelmaris?!” Burton stammered. “That brutal military cult?”

“Burton, Maelmaris was originally used to keep order in the Conquering Hordes of Ulsemroth by weed-
ing out and torturing the weak of my forces. It allowed me to look over the army without actually having to
manage it.”

“The Ulsemrothic Red Storm army is the epitome of military might; every detail micromanaged by your
Lordship to create the most efficient, deadly, battle-hardened fighting force Aether has ever seen! So why in
God’s name do you want to bring that back?!”

Tumulteon looked over his shoulder, a somewhat disturbing lapse of focus for the normally forceful dic-
tator. He glided past Burton and inspected several higher-ranking officers standing at the podium. Burton stood
patiently, and it seemed to him like Tumulteon might be avoiding the question.

He would have to wait a little longer. Tumulteon stepped up to the podium and gave a speech about
power, strength, and grim determination. The speech was nothing different; no change of direction…the stan-
dard stuff the great dictator often fed his order keepers. But in the delivery, Burton once again noticed a waning
in Tumulteon’s manner.

“You…you, men of Maelmaris, are all that stands between our established order…and the chaos and
scourge of the earth that would topple us. You are to use whatever means necessary…to preserve Ulsemroth.”

At the closing of Tumulteon’s speech, loud war-like drums began to play and the newly-christened
Maelmarians saluted their emperor. Though Lord Tumulteon seemed to stagger off the stage drained of his
conviction, Burton could see in the eyes of the Maelmarians the same malice, the same cruelty, the same will to
dominate that he had once trembled before in Tumulteon’s.

As Tumulteon pushed his way back through the great doors of the palace, he silently reflected on what
he had done. It was the right thing to do. I won’t tell Burton anything more, he wouldn’t understand.
I’ve been…feeling drained of late. I can’t keep order in all of my empire all the time anymore, it’s
time I…retired a bit. Heh…Maelmaris will serve their task well. They’re perfect for it.

Thus, the age of the Blackcoats was to begin in Ulsemroth, and though few would later remember that
day, it stuck with Tumulteon for decades afterward.
Maelmaris
The twilight began to shroud even the overlook, and Lord Tumulteon shivered in the cold breeze.

About time to go back, I suppose… Tumulteon thought to himself.

He rose from the bench and turned to see two black-coated men standing in silence. One, with crimson
red hair; he immediately recognized as commander Lein Sevolver, a Maelmarian hero with a legendary temper.
The other possessed grey slate-blue hair and a cold, empty expression on his face.

“My lord…” this one said. “We’ve come to escort you back to the palace.”

Tumulteon scoffed. “I can find my own way home. What is your name, officer?”

“General Malgrathea. Come, my lord. We really must get you back to the throne room. There is…a mat-
ter that requires your attention.”

“Ugh! We don’t have time for this, Xeris. Lord Tumulteon, please follow us right now!” The man with
the red hair rudely butted in.

“Peace, Sevolver.” Xeris said. “Come, my lord.” he repeated with emphasis.

Tumulteon laughed deeply. “Well if they’re sending generals to find me, I suppose I mustn’t refuse. Lead
the way…”

Xeris nodded and set off down the stairs, with Sevolver and Tumulteon at his heels. Soon, all three dis-
appeared into the shadowy forest, leaving the lonely overlook desolate once more.

Glossary of Terms You May Encounter:

Blackcoats A slang term for the officers of Maelmaris; referring to their black trench coats.

Great Tidesian Conflict between Ulsemroth and Tidesia, lasted nearly 60 years. Ulsemroth defeated
War Tidesia and annexed it into the empire.

Maelmaris Secret police of Ulsemroth, under the direct command of Prime

Minister Burton. Maelmaris is utilized for many purposes, from censorship agents to
military officers to special operations corps to Lord Tumulteon’s personal cabin boys.

Valmatari Ancient word for “the highborn”, the preeminent race on Aether. Valmatari are cov-
ered in pourous black skin with bony armor on various parts of their bodies. Their
bodies seem to house a life energy of some sort that allows them to manpulate nature.
Their skin accomplishes most bodily functions, and breathes and digests their food.
The Valmatari are extremely long-lived as well.

Ulsemroth The dominant empire on Aether. In its ancient past (under a young Tumulteon) Ulsem-
roth was a lot like Tolkien’s Mordor. It has since become a sagging bureaucracy.
 Maelmaris

The Blackcoats of Maelmaris

A Regime of Wolves, By David Shumway

It was a grim day. The sky was

filled with foggy white clouds that of-
Matt Freel
fered promise of rain to the cold forest
Computer Graphics
below, and the trees themselves reached
towards the heavens bent and naked,
like great dead skeletons. Their clothes
they had scattered on the frosty ground,
creating a veritable sea of wet leaves
that hindered even the most determined
travelers to this lifeless place.

Van Daum clutched his soaked

overcoat close, as an icy wind whistled
the trees. It was winter in the mountains
of Eclipsor; not far from the imperial
city of Ulsemrothis, but a world away
from central heating, insulation, and all
of civilization’s other benefits possessed
by the city. No one in their right minds
would think to traverse these lonely
peaks during this time of year. Only two
kinds of people dared trudge through the
frigid woods: naturalists and revolution-
aries. And Van Daum had no great love
of the bleak mountain eco-system.

“My old friend, you are well?”
Before Van Daum, was his faithful
comrade Leovych Trostia. He was a pale,
hearty man with wild un-groomed gray
hair who wore a faded green military
uniform and a black beret. On his back our purpose may be betrayed. It is three hour’s walk through hard ter-
he had an old rifle and a moss-covered rain to the compound, can you manage?”
canvas backpack. Leovych was standing
at the other end of the barren clearing “I shall be fine.” Van Daum himself was a sickly man, shaven
Van Daum had come upon, for this was bald with a black goatee. Oddly enough, his sickness was not one of
the meeting place they had both agreed flesh but one of spirit. A burning passion seemed to consume him from
upon. the inside, and his body was weakened by the effort of containing it.
His tweed and black overcoat evoked that of old academia.
“As well as I may be under our
hated tyrant.” Van Daum replied. “You Leovych laughed deep and resoundingly. “You, who have been
said you had news?” banished to Galidra six times; who has trudged for years through the
wilderness evading the damned Blackcoats; Yes my friend, you shall
“Yes, but we cannot talk here; be fine! I had feared for your health, but your spirit seems fiery again.”
Maelmaris

“Ah, indeed! A moment, I had almost forgotten…” He dug into his overcoat pockets and produced a heavy
leather-bound book that contained many scribbled texts. “This I have written on the airship to Toresei! It is the
outline of all of the party’s ideals, but also an impassioned plea to the oppressed masses. I have titled it The
April Mandates.”

“You have come to dictate this to the cadre?” said Leovych, somewhat disinterested.

“Of course!” Van Daum thumped his book. “The very soul of our party is contained in these pages! I
must share it with them!”

“You are certainly a resolute fellow.”

Van Daum nodded. “Let us proceed. I fear some traitor has loosed the Manhunters on me. I have seen them
hovering overhead in the sky like a specter since I left the port at Toresei. Besides that, I have narrowly avoided
discovery at seven checkpoint inspections. Somehow, the Blackcoats know I have returned, and are determined
that I be found…”

“Very well, we shall be off.” Leovych strode into the shadows under tree cover and returned promptly with a
stranger in a green cloak. “This is the man I wanted you to meet. He says he has information that will help us.
I’m sure proper introductions may be made at the compound, but…” Leovych motioned close to Van Daum and
whispered in his ear. “This man has official Ulsemrothic papers. He is an aide representing the Doctor Taugris
himself!”

Van Daum became alarmed. “Taugris?! Has it not occurred to you he may be a spy?! Tell me he has not
seen the compound!”

“Well yes, once before…”

“Agh!” Van Daum yelled. “Amateurs! I never should have left you fools alone! Is this what stupidity
festers in my absence?”

“But there is nothing to worry about,” Leovych reassured him. “We have been in correspondence for months.
The entire Cadre is now in agreement; he is legitimate.”

“The Cadre have been lacking since I have been gone…” Van Daum muttered.

“I vouch for them.” Leovych said firmly. “It was my decision, and I believe we have finally obtained
the lead we require to spearhead our glorious class-war against the frilly aristocratic seikirs that run this wicked
land!”

Van Daum stumbled, quite taken aback by this resolute curse and Leovych’s defiance. “Heh. I see.” he
grinned. “I never knew you had so much iron in you. If that is how you feel, then all must be well.” He took a
quick glance at the silent man in the green cloak, standing motionless at the other end of the clearing.

“I’m glad you see it that way,” Leovych sighed.

Maelmaris
Van Daum walked towards the mouth of the clearing, but then stopped. “I would be careful how you
throw words like that around, Leovych. The People’s Liberation is not purely a group of selverens; there are
many valmatari who hate Tumulteon as well. I would think they might take offense to that slur.” he laughed.
“We have tarried here too long.”

Leovych stared hollowly at Van Daum for a second. Then, as if remembering, he signaled to the man in
green, and the three of them departed the gloomy clearing.

They began to walk through the overgrown woods, traversing deep ravines covered in ferns and high
cliffs studded with scraggly pines. Throughout this time, Van Daum kept his eye on the man in the green cloak,
shooting cautious glances towards him every few minutes.

This is a very odd person. Van Daum decided. The man was tall and obviously strong. He agilely kept pace with
powerful strides, never stopping to rest or even showing any signs of tiring under the heavy green cloak. And
there was one other thing about the man that gave Van Daum a deep unease about the man. It was the way he
walked; staying centered directly behind Van Daum and always looking directly at him. The man was very rigid
and collected, never betraying anything about himself. Despite the speed at which he followed, he appeared to
do so with the greatest care to keep every inch of his body hidden under the cloak, almost carrying himself like
a man with a concealed weapon.

It gave Van Daum the feeling that this man was not a guest being led to the compound, but a guard escorting
Van Daum himself to a prison of some kind.

He is certainly like no spy I’ve ever seen, more like a military man of some kind. Hmm. If Leovych was telling
me the truth about his origins, than I suppose that would explain everything.

With this thought, Van Daum turned his head away from the man in green and towards Leovych. Now
that I have conceived of it, there is something odd about Leovych as well. I have been gone seven years, I sup-
pose people change. But Leo was never a firm man, and he wasn’t strong or martial like he seems to be now.
And I could never have fathomed such a hearty laugh in him, either.

Leovych didn’t notice Van Daum’s inhibitions. He never even looked back the entire time, only staring
forward while keeping a relentless pace through the thicket

The three continued until they reached a great rift valley. As the trail turned down the ravine, the forest
soon grew much deeper and the dark night sky became even dimmer under the trees. A cold mist rose and began
to chill the souls of the travelers. They were very close to the compound now.

Van Daum had been too busy thinking to much pay attention to the trail or the other two men escorting
him, so Leovych nudged him when they stopped by a dark gray rock face.

“We have arrived, my old friend.” Leovych said with a strange smile, indicating a small iron door tucked
into the stonewall. Heavy moss and ferns obscured windows and battlements carved into the rock of the cliff.
The compound was a very well built underground fortress, with a hydropower generator turned by the waterfall
and deep bunkers hiding years of food supplies. Everything about the compound was prepared for a long siege,
with heavy blast-doors behind every artillery window and the four exits at various ends of the fortress. What

surprised Van Daum was the extensive level of anti-aircraft guns and other fortifications that had been installed.
Maelmaris
Also, the opening of a large-scale hangar had been carved into the rock, with huge gun batteries at its mouth.
The whole level of the fortress’s defenses had been upgraded substantially.

“Leovych…you told me that significant work had been done here, but this…!” Van Daum stammered.
“Where did you get all of it?”

“Do you like them?” Leovych smiled again. “It was because of this man and the one he represents!” He
pointed towards the man in green.

“Dr. Taugris?!
Dr. Taugris gave you
these guns?”

“No, no…there
is another. This man is
an aide to Taugris, but
in truth loyal to anoth-
er high-ranking mem-
ber of the regime that
favors the deposing of
Tumulteon. We have
friends in Ulsemrothis,
Wiechold.”

“I can’t believe
this madness! Tak-
ing money from the
government and…
buying huge guns!
Those Manhunters will
be able to see all this from the air, you idiot!!! They’ll probably be able to fly right into that gaping hangar as
well!” Van Daum clutched his forehead. “That’s it! This is how it ends! Blackcoats swarming on us, enduring
siege by airship, gas-attacks! I can just see the Ziratos on the horizon now!”

“I told you, my old friend…” Leovych said with clenched teeth. “I have personally overseen our affilia-
tion with them, and it is safe! The cadre all voted affirmatively for every action I took! And besides that, this has
been going on for months, and there are no Maelmarians here yet.”

“Hmm…I suppose you are right.” Van Daum calmed down a bit. “There aren’t any Blackcoats…yet…”

He eyed the man in green suspiciously again. “I should like to speak to the cadre about all this as well.”

“Agreed. Let us go inside…where we’ll be more…protected.” Leovych had that strange smile on his
face again as he escorted his friend into the fortress, while the man in green followed and locked the door be-
hind them.

In the council room, deep underground in the center of the compound, the Cadre was gathered. Van
Daum tramped into the room and slammed his book of writings on the table. The chatter in the room abruptly
Maelmaris

Glossary of Terms You May Encounter:

stopped.

“My comrades!” he said, addressing the

Cadre. “I have heard much from Leovych on my Currency; Van Daum is making a biblical
Alcrysals
way here. I would like to know from all of you reference about treachery.
the present situation of our revolution, in due
time.” Dr.Taugris A high ranking official in Ulsemroth,
Dr.Taugris is Minister of State Affairs.
Van Daum moved to the man in green.
“First, I would like to hear what this man will Larterian Massive worldwide war in Galidra and the
say. I am told he is a friend from the Ulsem- Wars Ereban esert; Ulsemrothic atrocities.
rothic government. It pleases me to know that
not everyone in the capital is part of Tumulteon’s Seikir A racist slang term denoting Valmatari.
regime of dogs!” He patted the man on the shoul- Akin to the “n-word” in our society.
der in an insincere friendly gesture. “Well, what
would you give us?” Selveren Ancient word for “the people”. It denotes
humanity, though the translation is unclear.
The man in green reached up and slowly
removed his hood. Underneath was the face of a Vormache A slang curse term, akin to “bastard”. It is
stern, cold-eyed young man with a face as white derived from the name of a swamp creature.
as snow. His hair was long and flowing in a tradi-
tional swordsman’s style native to Latheron. It was a striking stone gray-blue that looked like submerged rocks
where the ocean met the coast and waves broke in a white misty haze over the tide pools. Van Daum had never
seen hair like that…or had he? He tried to remember, but it was murky. There was something about this man
that was familiar to him, but he was missing something, the piece that completed the puzzle.

In the split second that all this ran through Van Daum’s mind, the man took this advantage to smash Van
Daum off his feet and down onto the floor, pinning him with his incredible strength.

“Ack! Shhhh…” Van Daum struggled for breath against the man’s clutching grip. “What…are you…
fools doing?! Shoot…him, SHOOT HIM…!” Van Daum screamed.

The Cadre immediately raised their guns, the sound of loading cartridges echoed through the chamber.

Van Daum sneered at the man. “Heh…I pity…you.” he gasped. “So many chances back there in the
woods, and…you wait…until now. You…you are in a den of blades…” He looked up at the man’s face and no-
ticed a small metal badge poking from underneath the green cloak. It was a rank pin recognized by Maelmaris.
The man’s gloves, in the process of crushing Van Daum to the floor, were also jet-black.

“I…I see now! You’re a Blackcoat! Well you…haven’t got your pack…of Maelmarian dogs to help you
now…you’re…all alone!” Van Daum writhed on the ground against the man’s grip. He squirmed partly free of
the man’s grasp and yelled at the Cadre again. “What are you waiting for? I’m not afraid of blood on my face,
fools! You know what I did to the Minister Aëlvice! Our Maelmarian friend certainly does…OPEN FIRE!!!”

It was only upon giving this order that Van Daum realized the Cadre’s guns weren’t pointed at the man
in green. They were pointed at him.

To Be Continued...